


Alone again because all I really want's the truth

by ExhumingR



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enjolras and Grantaire fight, Grantaire is quite self-depreciating here, Happy ending though, M/M, So business as usual, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:47:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExhumingR/pseuds/ExhumingR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Enjolras fight and R takes the time to wallow in misery.<br/>That's it, that's the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone again because all I really want's the truth

 

_**"No, I couldn't bear the burden so I threw it all away.** _

_**Don't make me yearn again, I found some way to mend this broken heart. It don't haunt me singing about love any more.** _

_**It don't really matter what I say, you're just gonna twist it anyway. Do you even listen to my words; you just want to memorise the chords.** _

_**Alone again because all I really want's the truth. It's so rare to find that anywhere these days."** _

 

 _Raining. Typical._ _When isn’t it raining?_ Of course he’d forgone his umbrella this morning; of course his coat was still draped across the back of his chair in the Musain. _Bloody brilliant. My day really can’t get any worse can it?_ He had half a mind to turn back and fetch his nice cosy parka but that meant going back and facing Enjolras and he really, really didn’t want to do that.

 They’d had an argument. Well, that wasn’t exactly a surprise, they argued constantly, but somehow this one was different. It was by no means the worse one they’d ever had, not by a long shot yet Grantaire was still left feeling like he’d been kicked in the stomach... _repeatedly_. The fight had started as it usually did, he'd made one too many sarcastic comments and Enjolras had snapped, asking him to shut up if he didn’t have anything productive to contribute. Then Grantaire went and put his foot in it saying that nobody could ever contribute anything worthwhile because it was a lost cause to which Enjolras had replied in biting words: “No, Grantaire, the only lost cause here is you.”

 It was at this point that the cynic had upped and left. He was right, Enjolras was always right. It was impossible for the artist to amount to anything _but shit it hurt to hear Apollo say it_. At the back of his mind he’d always thought that there was the potential in him to achieve something, maybe not anything as great as the fearless revolutionary, but something. _Guess daddy was right._ A bitter smirk tugged at his lips. They were all right, anyone who’d ever called him worthless, they were right. And now he was alone, because the truth was all he wanted and it was so rare to find that anywhere these days.

 A screeching sound of tyres on a wet road interrupted his thoughts long enough for him to realise he was down by the canals, soaked to the bone. The thin grey t-shirt he’d donned this morning was now clinging to his skin, specks of paint that had landed on his shirt this morning now bleeding and staining the fabric with multi-coloured trails. The sight tore a bitter chuckle from his lips, how fitting for him to be marked with the colours of the rainbow, a physical manifestation of the part of him his father hated the most. It was true, Grantaire was not the favourite child, his sister had always been cherished by their parents whilst R was forgotten, dismissed. As a young boy it had torn him apart but now it was just another feature of his life, his parents had every right to be ashamed of him. 

 Today was just not his day which was an absolute shame considering it was his birthday. That meant the obligatory call from his father which had left him feeling like an empty shell of a man.

(“You still wasting your life as an artist?” his father had asked, “Surprised you haven’t starved yet.” For all Grantaire’s wit and sarcasm no response had sprung to his lips.

“Yes,” was all he had said. Yes he still painted, yes he was surprised too.

"And I suppose you're still drinking your life away in that little justice club of yours? Honestly, it's an embarrassment to the entire family. _You're_ an embarrassment. We spend our money giving you the best education possible, setting you up for a good career in law and this is how you repay us, squandering your talent on your silly little 'art'. You'll never amount to anything, you know. Not like your sister, no she's done us proud, she hasn't let us down. You're a disgrace")

 The morning he'd spent crying, the afternoon he'd spent with Joly, surrounding himself with the positivity of the cheerful man until it became too much. Joly was a wonderful friend, the only one who he'd trusted with the knowledge of today being his birthday. Grantaire didn't expect anyone to care so what was the point in telling anyone. But of course Joly broke out the beer with a grin and a cheer, insisting that it wasn't a birthday without a pint with your favourite drinking partner! Yes, Joly was wonderful but it drained Grantaire to be around the happy student so eventually he slunk away back to his empty flat to drink on alone. _What a wonderful birthday indeed._

 A part of his brain whispered now to go have a drink, go home and sleep until tomorrow but a louder part said “What’s the point of tomorrow?” _What, indeed? My friends probably hate me for bitching about their ideals, my family ignores me, and I’m a failing artist. I’m nothing but a burden, a lost cause._ Slumping to the pavement, he sat, dangling his feet over the edge of the canal and staring into the murky waters below.

 Briefly, he wondered if anyone was worried about him yet. For all his fights with Enjolras, he rarely actually stormed out, especially not after such a short a fight as this one. To be honest, they’d been getting along fairly well recently. Whether it was the fact that Grantaire had been helping to design banners or the fact that Enjolras had therefore been spending more time with the cynic, he didn’t know, but for some reason they had been relatively friendly with one another. Perhaps he should go back and apologise, he hadn’t really meant to be so sharp with Enjolras, hadn’t meant for the flicker of hurt to appear in the other man’s eyes. He could blame his comment on the fact that he was a little unstable after his conversation with his father or the fact that he’d had to work a double shift at the restaurant when he’d really needed to catch up on school work but really he’d just wanted to lash out at someone and Enjolras had been the easiest target.

 Vaguely, he noticed the disappearance of the rain then a gentle weight of fabric on his shoulders before he looked up. Standing over him, in all this revolutionary glory was Enjolras –complete with umbrella which he held over them both.

“Do you mind if I sit?” he asked, staring down at him through lowered lashes. Grantaire looked away but nodded slightly.

“Sure,” he muttered, “be my guest.” The blond did, seating himself on the mucky wet pavement and resting his arms on the railing that guarded them from the canal.

“You forgot your coat,” he said quietly, gesturing to the coat now resting around Grantaire’s shoulders.

“Yeah. I left in a bit of a hurry.”

“Yeah…” The older man seemed to have lost the eloquence he flaunted so often in his speeches, mirroring the cynic’s blunt sentences instead.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… Well, I guess I did mean what I said but not the way I said it. I shouldn’t have been so sharp.”

“No, I’m sorry.” The apology leaving the lips of the chief caused Grantaire to turn his head quickly with shock and a raised eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that. I know how to admit it when I’m wrong.”

“But you weren’t wrong-”

“Shut up, R. I was wrong. You aren’t a lost cause, I shouldn’t have said that. You’ve been incredibly helpful lately and knowing you as well as I now do it’s easy to see how talented you are when you put your mind to it.” The artist was silent for a moment.

“I… I don’t mind not coming to the meetings anymore if I’m disrupting things.”

“What?! Of course I want you at meetings. I mean we all want you at meetings. And I don’t mind you interrupting sometimes. You can be really helpful with your arguments; you help me perfect my own.” Was that a faint blush on the blonde’s cheeks or was it the cold? _Probably the cold._

“Okay then.” They sat in silence for a moment more before Enjolras stood up, proffering his hand.

“Do you mind if we go inside, I’m freezing,” Enjolras asked.

“Sure,” Grantaire replied with a slight smile, tentatively taking his hand and allowing the older man to pull him to his feet.

“There’s a Fairtrade coffee shop nearby, fancy it?” A smirk spread across the artist’s lips.

“Sure, Apollo.” With that they set off, hand in hand beneath a red umbrella whilst the rain poured on.

 

***

(And then at the coffee house R lets slip that it's his birthday and they share a birthday muffin _~~and a kiss~~_ -who said that?!)

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell that I hate writing long fics?  
> So the title is from Become What You Are by Merchandise.  
> This isn't really much of an Enjolras/Grantaire fic right until the end. Oops! It's also mighty half-hearted, I'm ashamed!  
> As always, criticism is welcome, Lord knows I need it.  
> 


End file.
